


The Skies Are Crying

by FancifulRivers



Series: Occasion a Day Competition Stories [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Romance, Break Up, F/M, Inspired by Demi Lovato "Skyscraper", snamione, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 23:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4724786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione refuses to anymore. Their relationship is bent and broken, but perhaps it's still good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skies Are Crying

**Author's Note:**

> I do not and never will own Harry Potter.

When she steps outside, it's raining. _Doesn't that just figure,_ she thinks bitterly, not caring as rain dampens her bushy hair, trickling down the back of her collar. He's pulled away from her, but she's not chasing him anymore. She can't.

_Do you truly believe this is working out-_

But she had, that's the trouble. She'd thought it was perfect, kisses stolen between brewing, her working toward her Mastery and him serving as her unofficial mentor (her actual supervisor, of course, is a sour-faced old man appointed by the Ministry who's actually rather sweet as soon as he's had his morning tea). He's changed by the war, but so is she. His scars knot in the base of his throat, and hers trail down her arm, an outer display of the pain scrawled on their souls.

Perhaps that's why it's not working out, scar tissue against scar tissue is rough and disjointed, and he just needs space or time or something else trite. She sighs. It doesn't matter why.

The rain stops, and she looks up. An umbrella, held over her head by the familiar black-clad arm. He looks embarrassed, colour staining sallow cheeks.

"Sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she heaves a sigh, letting her cheek rest against his damp chest. He smells of soggy wool and wood smoke. "Maybe we can start over? Later?" He jerks a little, as if in surprise, then she feels him nod.

"Later," he agrees.

"I've made an appointment at St. Mungo's," she informs him. "Counselling. They weren't surprised. Perhaps you should do the same."

"I will consider it," he says, after a pause. His heartbeat flutters beneath her ear. He will. Not today, maybe not this week or even this month, but he will.

Perhaps it's time they both stop running.


End file.
